Vicious Cycle
by Joyful Noise 44
Summary: She's spent the last 19 years trying to protect her daughter. But when duty calls, can Sydney guard Isabelle from the life of a special agent? Chapter Six is now up. Review!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Isabelle Bristow Vaughn had her father's eyes, but the likeness to her father ended there. She shared Sydney's full lips and strong jaw line. Her voice even sounded like her mother's. Michael doted on her constantly, forcing Sydney to portray the role of "bad cop" wherever Isabelle was concerned. The roles were reversed when it came to Jack, though his docile demeanor made the need for discipline less frequent.

Isabelle, however, was a different story. As she grew into a young woman her debates with her mother became more and more frequent _and_ more and more heated. Michael found the "discussions" humorous, joking that Sydney had finally met her match. Isabelle's strength, fire and all-out stubbornness reminded him so much of Sydney. Sydney, on the other hand, was concerned with her daughter's brashness and temerity. It reminded her too much of her own mother. Though, Sydney was forced to admit, she and Irina may have encountered similar challenges had Irina been around during Sydney's college years.

They argued over everything and nothing, from Isabelle's wardrobe to her choice of college major. "Why, Is?" Sydney pleaded. "Why would you want to major in something like criminal justice?"

"I like it, okay? I like helping people. Besides, anything's better than teaching foreign languages, like you and Dad."

"Teachers have a very important job," Sydney defended. "Teachers help people too, you know."

"You like learning languages, don't you, honey?" Michael interjected, trying to smooth things over.

"Yes, Dad," Isabelle pouted, folding her arms over her chest.

"I remember your first day of kindergarten. You came home amazed that none of the other kindergarteners knew how to speak German." Michael chuckled, trying desperately to bring a smile to the faces of the two most important women in his life. Neither Isabelle nor Sydney cracked a smile. Damn, they were too much alike.

"Mom, I know you couldn't possibly understand this. But I want to do something important! I can't go through my whole life satisfied with mediocrity," Isabelle fought frantically for what she wanted.

"Then be a neurosurgeon, Is! You could be an incredible doctor…"

"No! Mom! I'm _going_ to do this. I'm going to be a detective or investigator; do something important. I'm going to work for the CIA, maybe be a secret agent. But I've made up my mind. This is what I want to do."

Isabelle stormed out without so much as a goodbye to her parents. Michael gave her a brief wave as she pulled out of the driveway, no doubt in a hurry to return to the USC campus to vent to her friends about her overprotective parents. "You okay?" he asked softly, still gazing out the window at the spectacular sunset.

"Yeah," Sydney responded. "I wish I could tell her, Vaughn."

"Yeah, I know." He moved to his wife of nineteen years and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "You can someday."

Aside from their occasional freelance work under their longtime friend Marcus Dixon, Sydney and Vaughn had given up their exciting secret agent work long ago. They had both settled for teaching positions at the University of California – Santa Barbara as foreign language professors. They had gone off the map as best they could and raised their two children as normally as they knew how.

Sydney had proven to be quite domestic, which surprised her husband. She seemed to never tire of being a wife and mother and it suited her. In fact, motherhood was the best alias she'd ever chosen for herself. She made a point to treasure every moment of Isabelle and Jack's childhoods, faithfully attending every dance recital and little league game. She was determined to give her own children a normal childhood…the kind of childhood she herself never had. She never looked back. This was exactly where she wanted to be.

"I guess I'm too protective of her," Sydney admitted quietly. "But I don't want that life for her. I don't want her to obsess over her work the way I did."

"_Did_? You still obsess over your work. It's just a different kind of work," Vaughn reminded her.

"Yeah but to put her life in danger…I don't know what I'd do if something happened to her."

"She's practically an adult now, Syd. It's time she makes her own decisions. Espionage is in her blood. You can't deny that."

"I know," Sydney heaved a sigh and ran her fingers through her silky, shoulder-length hair. "I just wish there was some way I could make her understand."

The shrill ring of her cell phone startled Sydney from her daze.

"Hello?"

"Syd, it's me." Dixon's voice was so reassuring to her, even after all these years.

"Director Dixon, how are you?"

"Fine, thanks. Syd, listen. I have an enormous favor to ask you."

"Oh, I can't this weekend, Dixon. Jack has a hockey game…"

"No, it's not you I need."

"Oh. Do you want to talk to Vaughn?"

"I don't need Vaughn, either. Not this time."

"Oh." Sydney braced herself on the arm of the sofa, fully aware of what Dixon was going to ask.

"Sydney, I have a mission for Isabelle…"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Who was that?" Michael placed a mug of hot tea into Sydney's hands.

"Dixon."

"Did you tell him about Jack's game?"

"I told him." Sydney stared hard at the family portrait that hung on a nearby wall. She grasped the warm mug firmly with both hands, allowing the steam from her cup to dance over her lips and nose before sipping it.

Vaughn noticed her distressed look. "You okay?"

She didn't respond. In fact, he wasn't certain she'd even heard him.

"If you want to take this job, go ahead. Jack will understand you missing one game." He leaned in and kissed her cheek softly. Again, no response. "Sydney?!" he finally exclaimed rather forcefully.

She didn't look at him. She hardly even moved. "Isabelle," she said almost inaudibly. "Dixon wants to use Isabelle on a job."

"What?" Vaughn couldn't believe what he'd heard. He couldn't believe that Dixon would have the audacity to ask Sydney something like that. Michael set his cup on the glass-topped end table and stood to his feet, unsure whether to comfort his wife or contact Dixon himself to inform him of his exasperation. "What kind of job is it?"

"He couldn't go into detail on the phone. He wants me to go with Isabelle to Langley. He said he'd brief us there."

"But you didn't tell him yes, did you?"

"I told him I'd think about it."

"Syd, you can't even consider doing this."

Sydney scoffed. "Five minutes ago you were encouraging me to let Isabelle make her own decisions! You said espionage was in her blood!"

"Yeah, well that was before I knew the CIA wanted to use her for a mission. She's only nineteen years old!"

"She'll be twenty in two months. I was only twenty-two when I started work with SD-6."

Vaughn stared at her in disbelief. She was actually considering this. "Sydney, doing this means no turning back. I mean you'll have to tell her the truth about us."

"I know." Sydney stared down into her lap for a moment, then back into Vaughn's eyes. "It would almost be kind of a relief, don't you think?"

"A relief for whom?" Michael's brow furrowed in frustration. "How do you think Isabelle is going to feel about the fact that we've lied to her for her entire life?"

Sydney remembered the confusion and disbelief she'd experienced when she first learned the truth about her parents. "I know. But I think Isabelle could take it. Besides, it _did_ bring me and my dad closer together."

Vaughn almost caved when he saw the hopeful look in her eyes. That twinkle always returned at the mere mention of Jack's name. She adored her father; sometimes to a point that incited jealousy in Michael. "Yeah, it did. But Sydney…"

"He got me, my dad. All my life I thought he was just this awkward character who had no clue about who I was or what I wanted. It turned out that he understood me better than anyone else in my life. I _want_ that with Isabelle, Vaughn. I want her to see me the way she looks at you. I want her to realize that I understand every hope, every dream, every desire she has for that kind of life. I understand she wants to save the world."

Vaughn couldn't hide the grin that enveloped his entire five o'clock-shadowed face. He seated himself on the sofa beside Sydney and pressed his mouth to the side of her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair deeply. She'd been his for so long, but he never tired of her. Sydney Bristow-Vaughn was his soul mate; the love of his life. He felt extremely blessed to have her as his wife, the mother of his children. He couldn't imagine a life that didn't include Sydney.

He took a moment to nibble her earlobe before whispering in her ear, "Call Isabelle, Syd. You can save the world together."

* * *

"I swear I'm tempted to become a doctor; make my mom happy for once." Isabelle pulled her silky, chestnut colored hair into a ponytail and plopped down on the twin bed in her tiny dorm room. Her fair-skinned, auburn haired roommate, Mallie Brooks, turned away from her studies long enough to give Isabelle a questioning look.

"Since when do you care so much about pleasing your mother?"

"I don't know. I guess I thought that finally declaring a major would please her. Instead, I pissed her off all over again. It seems like my best is never good enough for her."

"Your dad seems nice, though," Mallie commented, remembering being unable to take her eyes off of Isabelle's handsome, distinguished-looking father during the Vaughn's most recent visit. She swiftly concealed a blush by resting her face in her hands.

"My dad is incredible," Isabelle reiterated boldly. "He's kind of the neutral party between my mom and me."

"Well, Is, my advice for you is to go for it. If criminal justice makes you happy, don't worry about what you mom says. It's your life, after all."

"I know. I just…" Isabelle paused to pick up her ringing cell phone. "Hello? Oh, hi Mom!" she rolled her eyes at Mallie who smirked and returned to her studies. "No, it's okay. I just got in; talking to Mallie…Yeah…Oh, okay. When? Sure, that'd be great…Okay, see you then, Mom."

Mallie glanced up to see a perplexed Isabelle tucking her feet under the covers as she chewed on her bottom lip anxiously. "Everything all right?"

Isabelle placed her cell phone on the nightstand. "I hope so. My mom wants to come for lunch on Tuesday. She says we need to talk about something."

"Hmmm. Maybe she wants to apologize for the argument," Mallie suggested.

"Maybe." Isabelle snuggled deeper under the covers and turned her face away from Mallie and the bright desk light that hovered over Mallie's studies. She tried to convince herself that everything would be fine; that Tuesday's lunch with her mom would be nothing.

But deep down, Isabelle was worried. Worried that her mother had discovered her secret.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Marcus Dixon drummed his fingers on his desk nervously. Soon he'd have to tell Sydney…everything. He knew she wouldn't be happy; in fact she'd probably be terribly angry with him. But as Director of the CIA, it was his job to do what was necessary to ensure the safety of the nation. Sydney would understand that. He hoped beyond all hope that she'd understand that.

It would be wonderful to have Sydney working alongside him again. Things hadn't been the same since she and Vaughn had "disappeared" nineteen years ago. People had come and gone, relationships had evolved (he and Hayden had been married for almost fifteen years now…), but he hadn't worked with anyone he trusted as much as Sydney. In fact, he'd tried to distance himself from all the new, young agents, maintain his professionalism and not get emotionally involved.

His thoughts were interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone on his desk. "This is Director Dixon," he announced.

"It's me."

"Are you on your way?"

"I'll be leaving in a couple of hours. That's not why I called."

"What's going on?"

"I think…I think they're onto me."

"Oh? What makes you think so?"

"I don't know. I'm just afraid I'm going to get caught."

"Just remain calm. What time is the meet?"

"Thirty minutes."

"Everything's going to be fine. Relax, breathe, and call me if you need me."

"Okay. Thanks, Uncle Dixon."

"Don't worry, Isabelle. You're going to get through this."

* * *

The drive to USC seemed longer than it had ever been before. Sydney contemplated how she'd break the news to Isabelle. She supposed that Isabelle probably wouldn't believe her. She might hate her for lying about it all these years. If only Isabelle understood the life that she and Vaughn had led for so many years; unable to sleep at night, afraid to speak in your own home for fear it might be bugged, constantly wondering if your friends -- your own roommate knew the secrets you kept…wondering if they'd still want to be your friends if they knew who you really were. Sydney shook thoughts of Francie out of her head. Poor, dead Francie.

Isabelle would make an incredible agent. _God,_ Sydney thought, _Dad would be beside himself if he knew I was letting her do this!_ She smirked a little as she imagined Jack's reaction to the fact that his granddaughter was going to embark on her first CIA mission. Just his facial expression alone would've been priceless! _Oh, Dad,_ she thought, _I wish you could see her all grown up._

She sped up a little as she neared the college campus. It was her alma mater, too. Sydney knew every inch of it, from the regal, proud looking buildings to the darkest dives. Everywhere she glanced evoked a flood of memories…the grassy yard where she and Francie studied and gossiped and dreamed about all they'd be, the library where she'd spent so many hours pouring over books of languages, the concrete table where she was sitting on that day she'd been recruited. She'd never imagined during those college years all that lay ahead for her, but looking back, it appeared as though every moment in her life lead up to being an agent. It was her destiny.

Isabelle was waiting for her in front of the dorms, just like she said she'd be. Sydney smiled at her almost-grown daughter; it was unbelievable to Sydney that this beautiful woman was her baby, Isabelle. Had it really been nineteen years since she'd been born? She sighed reflectively as Isabelle approached and opened the car door.

"Hi, honey," Sydney smiled as Isabelle got into the car and buckled her seat belt.

"Hey," Isabelle smiled, displaying a dimple that mirrored her mother's.

"Ready to go?"

"Sure." They drove in silence for a few minutes. Isabelle finally spoke again, "Mom, I know why you're here."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Look, Mom, I'm really sorry about the argument we had the other night. I want to please you and Dad. I _do_. It's just…"

"Is…"

"You can't ask me to give up my dreams. This is what I want. Please try to understand, Mom…"

"I do. I understand. That's…actually why I came." Sydney pulled the car to the side of the road. She wanted to say this face to face. "Is, I know you're…"

"You know about that?" Isabelle's gaze dropped to her lap. "Did Uncle Dixon call you?"

"Yeah," Sydney replied, baffled. "How did you –?"

"I told him this was a bad idea!" Isabelle rubbed her forehead tiredly. "I'm sorry, Mom! Please don't be upset with me. It's just that I've _finally_ found something I'm _really_ good at! A place where I belong."

"Wait a minute. You're already --? You're working for Dixon?" This time it was Sydney who rubbed her forehead in frustration. "I cannot believe this."

She put the car back into gear and drove past the little café; straight to the rendezvous point of which Dixon had already advised her. Isabelle looked confused and a little scared, but Sydney offered no explanation. She put on a pair of sunglasses, retrieved her purse and her suitcase from the trunk and then motioned for Isabelle to get out of the car, too.

"Mom?" Isabelle questioned, her voice quivering.

"Hmm?" Sydney responded without looking at her.

"How'd you know about this place?"

"Let's just suffice it to say that we all have our little secrets, Isabelle."

"So then…you _know_ where we're going?"

"Yeah," Sydney replied as they climbed into the black sedan that had approached them. "I'm going to have a word with your Uncle Dixon."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Mitchell Flinkman appeared unexpectedly in Dixon's office, his blue eyes gaping wildly, his voice quavering. "Sir?"

"Yes, Mitchell, what is it?"

"You'd uh…you'd better get out here."

Dixon cringed at Flinkman's words, fully aware of what he was about to encounter. They had arrived: the two most stubborn women in the universe. He stood and straightened his necktie, bracing himself for Sydney's ranting and Isabelle's cold stare. He was getting too old for this, he thought as he reached for the doorknob.

"Don't even think about trying to escape, Dixon!" Sydney's voice boomed over the now-cowering agents who witnessed her wrath. She came at him full force, looking angry and unafraid. Isabelle followed close behind her, appearing a bit confused and embarrassed.

"Actually I was coming out to meet you," Dixon tried to smile as he reminded himself to stay calm. Sydney's complete disregard of his personal space forced him backward into his office. "Syd, I know what you're going to say and I…"

"How could you, Dixon? How _could_ you?"

"Sydney…"

"Isabelle is my daughter, Dixon. My _daughter_! How the hell could you recruit her without telling me?"

"If you'll let me explain…"

"You'd _better_ explain. You'd better damn well explain how my daughter is working for the CIA, the same people _I_ work for, without me knowing about it!" Sydney crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows at him, awaiting her answer.

"There's a briefing in half an hour…"

"A briefing?!"

"Yes. And I suggest that you take a moment; calm yourself down and prepare for this meeting." He completely disregarded Sydney's rolling eyes and mumbling under her breath as he placed his hands on her shoulders. "Sydney, we need you on this. Both of you. I'll explain everything at the briefing, all right?"

She heaved another sigh before responding, "Fine, Dixon." Sydney stormed out of the office hurriedly, leaving Isabelle and Dixon alone. Neither of them spoke for what seemed like ages; Isabelle leaning against a nearby bookshelf with her arms crossed over her chest and Dixon propped on his desk, his shaky arms supporting him. Finally Isabelle moved toward the door.

"Isabelle."

She turned to face the man she lovingly called "Uncle Dixon," her eyes filled to overflowing with salty tears that threatened to spill out over her cheeks, lips and chin. "I don't know her," she mused, almost at a whisper.

"She's still your mother," Dixon assured her. "And she still loves you."

"But who is she? I mean, how can I trust anything she's ever told me?"

Dixon repressed the smirk that threatened to cross his lips. It was unbelievable; just like Sydney all over again. He remembered Sydney's disbelief when the truth came out about Irina Derevko's dark charade. This, he gratefully admitted, was not nearly as painful as Isabelle believed it to be. "Isabelle, listen to me," Dixon softly commanded. "Your mother did what she did to protect you. She wanted to shelter you from people who wanted to hurt you. Sydney did what she thought was best. Give her a chance to explain. I have a feeling that you'll find you have much more in common with your mother than you realize."

* * *

Mitchell looked up from his computer screen to see Isabelle before him, her large blue eyes wide and afraid, and her bottom lip between her teeth. "Hi," he said as he stood up.

"Can I talk to you?" she asked, her voice low and hushed.

"Sure. What did you need to talk about?"

"I mean privately. Can we go somewhere else?"

"S-sure." Mitchell logged off his workstation and trailed Isabelle to a dimly lit service hallway. He couldn't help but stare as she leaned against the cool, concrete wall, resting her head against its smooth painted surface and closing her eyes. She was undeniably beautiful. A flood of desire rose up in Mitchell; desire that he had repressed since adolescence.

Isabelle Vaughn and Mitchell Flinkman had grown up together. Although their families lived a great distance away from one another, Sydney, Carrie, Vaughn and Marshall were constantly in communication with one another, frequently scheduling play dates for the children and dinners for the adults. Mitchell was two and a half years older than Isabelle, and he was very protective of his "adopted sister" since he had no sisters of his own; only brothers…four younger brothers. Isabelle proved to be an ideal childhood companion. She was opinionated and courageous, even from a very young age. She was a bit of a tomboy, too, preferring mud pies and skating over baby dolls and tea parties. The playmates shared a remarkable connection, and for as long as he could remember, Mitchell had sworn that he and Isabelle would someday be married. His father joked that Mitchell "knew a keeper when he met one."

But once the awkward teenage years began, and fear of rejection and insecurity set in, Mitchell didn't talk so much about marrying Isabelle anymore. She had grown into an amazing young woman, and he saw himself as nothing more than an awkward, sarcastic computer geek with his father's looks and his mother's personality. He was acutely aware that Isabelle was out of his league…painfully aware. So he pretended not to care who she dated or where she hung out. He tried to maintain his "big brother" image without wearing his heart on his sleeve. But deep down, he loved Isabelle Vaughn more and more every time he laid eyes on her, and her recruitment into the CIA provided Mitchell with even more motive to fall in love with her: beautiful and a bit of a badass…quite a combination!

He stepped toward her hesitantly. "Is? Are you okay?"

"Mitch, my mother lied to me." She raised her head and looked at him as if awaiting some consolation. "My whole life…she's lied to me."

"Is, I'm so sorry…"

"That's how she and Uncle Dixon knew each other. They worked together…here!" She scoffed, then mumbled, "Unbelievable."

"What happened?" Mitchell couldn't hide his interest in the whole mess. It was kind of like staring at a traffic accident; he knew he shouldn't be so intrigued with it but he just couldn't make himself look away.

Isabelle repeated the story, as if for the hundredth time: "Mom called me on Sunday night and asked if she could meet me for lunch on Tuesday. I told her sure. We'd just had this big fight and I figured she was coming to make amends. But something in her voice…didn't sound right. I knew apologies weren't all she was coming for. So I called Dixon, worried that she might know…about my job here. After this big, long silence he tells me that he thinks we should let Mom in on it. She was a good friend of his, after all, and he didn't like keeping secrets from her where I was concerned. He promised protection for my family and told me where to wait for transportation to bring us here."

"Wow," Mitchell awed.

"No, that's not the worst of it," Isabelle told him. "Before Mom and I even made it to lunch, she tells me that she knows. So I get all upset, tell her that it's my life, my decision, you know…true Isabelle fashion. Mom drives us to the rendezvous point, grabs a suitcase out of the trunk of her car, and pulls me into the back of the car like it's nothing…"

"Is, oh my God!" Mitchell's eyes were wide, his head shaking in disbelief.

"On the plane, she finally explains to me that she had been working for the CIA all along. She actually worked full-time before she and my dad got married and now she works freelance occasionally. That explains why she's been coming home empty handed on all those antique shopping excursions she takes!"

Mitchell couldn't believe his ears. He was at once relieved that his own parents were software developers, and not nearly skilled enough to work for the government. He couldn't imagine his mild-mannered father working in any kind of high pressure situation. "At least you've still got your dad," he comforted Isabelle.

"Yeah. At least I know I can trust _him_. But what about Mom? Uncle Dixon wants us to work together. Can I trust her enough to work beside her?"

"I guess that's your decision to make," he advised. "But Is, remember, no matter what, Sydney's still your mother. I'm sure she did what she did for a reason. Maybe she shot somebody or killed some bad guy's brother and he's out looking for her. Don't you think that's reason enough to try to hide that lifestyle from you? I mean, could you sleep at night knowing that some villain has this vendetta against your mom? Against your family?"

"No, I guess not," Isabelle admitted. She sighed deeply as she looked at her wristwatch. "Oh, Mitch! The briefing! We've got to go."


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the great reviews! They help me stay focused and encourage me to keep writing. Chapter Five has been a long time coming; I hope you like it.**

* * *

Chapter Five

Sydney stepped into the briefing room cautiously, fully aware that all eyes were upon her. She had made quite a spectacle of herself and Isabelle; she knew that. It was a mother's instinct to protect her young, and to completely flog anyone who tried to put her baby in danger. So although she blushed as she seated herself at the heavy oak table, Sydney did not regret her actions. Furthermore she had not yet forgiven Dixon. No single mission warranted putting Isabelle in harm's way.

Isabelle entered with Mitchell Flinkman (goodness, Marshall's son had grown to be such a handsome young man!) purposely ignoring her mother. Sydney longed to reach across the table and touch her hand, stroke her hair. She missed the little girl Isabelle used to be. She had become a woman all too soon.

"All right, people, let's begin," Dixon stood at the head of the table, looking solemn and strong. Sydney felt a surge of adrenaline rush through her veins as a mix of anxiety and anticipation washed over her. She hated to admit it, but she was beginning to realize how much she missed doing this full time. Being an agent had been such an enormous part of her life for so long; she supposed it was unnatural that she'd left it all behind in the first place. But, at the time, being a wife and mother was all she'd cared about. She'd wanted Isabelle to have options…not be forced into a life that wasn't one of her own choosing.

Sydney slipped on a pair of black wire-rimmed glasses as a picture appeared on the monitor over Dixon's right shoulder. It appeared to be nothing but a pile of rubble; ruins of some ancient civilization somewhere far away.

Dixon's voice narrated: "Mongolia. A group of European anthropologists is working to excavate the remains of a well-known site among many of our elder agents." He glanced over at Sydney, who instantly realized what she was viewing. "The tomb of Rambaldi."

Sydney's breath caught in her throat at the mere mention of Rambaldi's name. It brought back memories…sickening memories from her past.

"Who – who is Rambaldi?" a young, tanned, blonde haired man asked. Sydney scoffed quietly. These rookies had no idea of the chaos that had ensued so many years ago thanks to Milo Rambaldi.

"Rambaldi was a fifteenth century seer; a prophet, if you will," Dixon explained robotically. He had repeated these recitations many times. "His predictions were a means of passion, even obsession, among Rambaldi's followers. They forecasted world changing events and even detailed the path to supposed eternal life…"

"But the CIA is in possession of all of the Rambaldi artifacts," Sydney interrupted. "What are these people after?"

"That's the dilemma," Dixon reported. "No one knows. We do know that two people were buried under the rubble, one of whom was one of our agents."

_Dad._ Sydney closed her eyes and breathed deeply for a moment. She hoped Dixon wouldn't broadcast her father's name. Isabelle would put two and two together. She would find out that her grandfather had been an agent, too. It might be too much for her to take in.

Dixon continued, ever the professional. "The other man buried under the debris was this man." A black and white photograph flashed onto the screen. It was a picture of Arvin Sloan. Sydney shuddered, despite herself, then peeked over to see if Isabelle had noticed her discomfort. Isabelle was still inattentive to her mother's presence at the briefing. "This is Arvin Sloane, a man whose obsession with all things Rambaldi led to the loss of his family and ultimately, his very life. It is believed that these anthropologists are in pursuit of Sloane's remains."

"Why? I mean, why would they want a corpse?" Isabelle chimed in.

Sydney answered before Dixon could respond. "These Rambaldi enthusiasts will go to strange lengths to get what they want. Sloane must have something on him that they want."

"When Sloane was put down in Mongolia, he fell into a substance that was believed by followers of Rambaldi to be life-restoring. However, Sloane's inability to emerge from the tomb led us to believe that he was, in fact, dead."

"Wait a minute." Sydney stared at Dixon with a look of disbelief. "Are you saying that Sloane is _alive_?"

"No, I'm not saying that," Dixon recanted, attempting to smooth things over before Sydney got her back up. "I'm saying that these anthropologists, or perhaps their employer, may want to find out what went wrong. They want to use Sloane's remains for research, maybe to correct problems or recreate Rambaldi's solution."

"You mean like a dissection," Mitchell interjected.

"Of sorts," Dixon replied.

"So stop them," Sydney said flippantly. "I don't understand why you want me to get involved."

"In fact, Sydney," Dixon made his way around the hefty table, "I have a very important job for you. I want you to be responsible for educating our field agents. About Rambaldi and his visions."

Sydney's gaze fell again on Isabelle, who stared back at her with resentment. "But Dixon, why me? I mean, you…"

"I'm afraid I have too much on my plate as it is, Sydney. I couldn't possibly take on such a responsibility. Besides, you're the most knowledgeable of any of our agents when it comes to Rambaldi, considering you were a major part of the prophesy yourself."

Isabelle let a little gasp escape her lips and gawked at her mother, who sighed heavily as she regarded her daughter's reaction. They had so much to talk about.

Dixon sensed the tension and began to wrap up the meeting as quickly as he could. "Isabelle, Stephen," he motioned to the young blonde man that had spoken earlier, "you're going to be in the field on this one. Go over tech with Mitchell and see Sydney for your Rambaldi tutorial before you leave. Wheels up in 48 hours. That's it, people."

Sydney sat rigid as the rest of the agents dispersed. How would she explain things to Isabelle? How would she explain things to _Vaughn_? He'd never allow Isabelle to accept such a dangerous mission, not in a million years. She grimaced as she imagined Vaughn's furrowed eyebrows and gruff objections. He was joking when he had encouraged Sydney to help Isabelle save the world. Besides, he didn't know this mission involved Arvin Sloane, a man who could never be trusted; even if he _was_ dead.

Her deep thoughts were interrupted by the feeling that she was being watched. She lifted her head to find Isabelle, sitting across the table, staring at her. "Hi," Sydney said calmly, trying to smile at the mirror image she saw in front of her.

"Hi," Isabelle's eyes were wide and sad. She dropped her gaze to her lap, then back at her mom again.

"I guess we have a lot to talk about, huh?"

"Yeah." Isabelle sighed, "I don't really know how to start."

"Is, honey, I…"

"I just don't understand how you could've hidden this from me! All these years!? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I couldn't! I wanted to protect you from this, Isabelle. Living as an agent, having to hide what you do from the people you love… it's hard. I didn't want to drag you into all this, not if you didn't want to be dragged. You deserve a happy, normal existence; or don't you understand yet what it means to fear for the lives of your friends and family everyday of your life? To feel responsible for the loss of a friend or another agent? No, you're young. You're inexperienced. But your time _will_ come. You'll see. Being a special agent is more than traveling the world and wearing disguises." Sydney stopped herself before she said too much. After all, Isabelle didn't know about Vaughn's involvement or the involvement of her grandfather, and Sydney wasn't sure she wanted to tell her just yet.

"Mom, I didn't become an agent because I thought it would be exciting, or to defy you and Daddy," Isabelle explained. "I wanted to help people. And for some reason, one that I now understand a little better, I was good at it. But I guess you've known I would be all along. I guess being an agent is in my genes, huh?"

"More than you know," Sydney sighed. "More than you know."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

_The sound was coming from a room at the end of a long hall before him. He could hear a voice, but he couldn't decipher the words that were being said._

_Watch me, Daddy…_

_White, everything was white. He was even dressed in white. How did he get here? He moved toward the sound of the voice, down the hall that seemed to never end._

_"Hello?" he called out, hoping to hear the voice again. Every door looked the same, and unless he heard where the voice was coming from he wouldn't know which one to open._

_Dad?_

_It was a child's voice, a familiar child's voice. He called out again, louder this time, "Hello!"_

_Daddy?_

_He stopped moving for a moment, his heart caught in his throat. "Isabelle?" Panic gripped him and he gave into it for a split second before running full-speed toward the end of the white hall. "Is! Where are you, sweetie?"_

_Daddy, I really, really need you!_

_"I'm coming, Is! Daddy's coming!" His pulse quickened, his breath came in frightened puffs. He had to find her. He had to find Isabelle. She was in trouble._

_"Hello, Michael." A male voice came from behind him. He glanced, still running, over his shoulder. He gasped sharply at the tanned figure dressed all in black, wearing mirrored, rectangular shaped sunglasses and smiling…a devilish grin._

_It was Arvin Sloane._

_"Sloane." It was all he could muster. He looked down at his feet which were still moving over the white surface below him. The floor had become like a white treadmill. He was moving, but going nowhere._

_"Is this what you're looking for?" Sloane asked. A little girl suddenly stood in front of him, her chestnut brown hair braided into pigtails, her intense blue eyes gazing up at him pleasantly, her hands clasped in front of her politely. She, like Vaughn, was dressed all in white._

_"Isabelle." He couldn't help but smile with relief when he realized she hadn't been harmed. He stopped running and reached out to touch his little girl._

_Sloane's hand touched her before Vaughn's could. Sloane patted her shoulder and smiled down at her like a proud grandfather would do. Vaughn's eyes widened in fear as Sloane draped a black cape over Isabelle's shoulders. "Tell Daddy you're going to help Uncle Arvin," Sloane persuaded gently._

_"No…"_

_Daddy I'm…_

_"No…"_

_…to help Uncle Arvin, okay?_

_"No, Isabelle…"_

_Don't worry, Daddy._

_"She'll be fine, Michael." Sloane turned Isabelle around and nudged her away from her father. Her white sandals still peeked out from beneath the black cape that now enshrouded her tiny figure._

_"No, come back…come back…ISABELLE!"_

He sat straight up in bed, his breathing fast and panicked, his face, neck and chest covered in sweat. The room around him was dark except for a digital clock's blue numbers next to him. 2:47 a.m.

2:47 a.m. What time was it on the east coast? It didn't matter. He had to call Sydney.

"Hi," his wife's sweet voice answered. She was smiling, he could tell by her tone. He imagined her dimples as she grinned through the phone.

"Hi." It brought him a small amount of comfort just to hear her voice. "Are you up?"

"Yeah. I'm actually about to head into work. I have so much to tell you, Vaughn, you're not gonna believe it."

"How's Isabelle?" his question was abrupt, he knew, but he needed confirmation that everything was all right.

"Isabelle's fine. She's in utter disbelief that her mother was a secret government agent, but she's dealing. I haven't told her about her dad yet, by the way." A pause. "Isabelle's fine, why?"

"Syd, I had this dream, I had this…horrible dream."

"What kind of dream?" Sydney's smiling tone had faded.

"Isabelle was with Sloane."

"What?"

"Sloane, Arvin Sloane, he…he took her away from me. I just…didn't get to her in time. I tried, Syd, I did. But I couldn't…" Vaughn rubbed his eyes warily.

"Oh, my God," Sydney's voice sounded shaky.

"What's wrong?" No sound came from the other end. "Sydney?"

"Has Isabelle talked to you?" she asked.

"No." Had he missed something somewhere?

"Dixon? Mitchell Flinkman? Has anybody called you?"

"No." He was beginning to get scared. "Sydney, what the hell's going on?"

"We have reason to believe that Sloane might still be alive."

Her statement hit him as if he'd been punched in the chest. His next word came in a hoarse whisper: "What?"

"We aren't certain, but there's been activity around the ruins where we had our final run-in with him and Rambaldi." She sniffed quietly. "Where my dad died."

"Syd…"

"Dixon says there's a slim chance he could still be out there. I don't know, Vaughn, your dream really might mean something."

"Is that the mission that Dixon wanted Isabelle for?" Vaughn asked, his voice suddenly demanding. "The mission to the ruins?"

Sydney hesitated for a moment. "Yes."

"No chance in hell." Vaughn flipped on the bedroom light and pulled a black duffle bag out of the nearby closet. He rummaged through his drawers, piling clothes into the bag until it was completely full. He wasn't even sure what he'd packed.

"What are you doing?" Sydney questioned him nervously from her side of the phone.

"Packing."

"Vaughn, everything's fine. I'm here. I'm looking out for Isabelle…"

"I don't care, Syd. It doesn't matter who's looking out for her. Isabelle is not going on that mission. She's not."

"Well, at least let me talk to Dixon. Maybe we can work something out…"

"I'm going to drop Jack off at Sean's house, and I'm coming." Vaughn slipped a pair of slacks over his boxer shorts and grabbed his wallet from the dresser top.

"Vaughn, it's three o'clock in the morning in California! You can't just…"

"I'm coming, Sydney. That's all there is to it."

"Vaughn!"

"I'm coming."


End file.
